


Cowboys & Lawyers

by Skifazoa



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Lawyers, M/M, Pig Farming, farm boy, farming, montana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 21:30:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20347033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skifazoa/pseuds/Skifazoa
Summary: In which a young lawyer arrives on a farm to deliver some news and cute things happen impractically fast.





	Cowboys & Lawyers

Akira pushed his glasses up his nose as he got out of his dusty BMW into the blazing Montana sun. He wrinkled his nose at the smell that assaulted him as he breathed in. As awful as it was, it was a good sign; he was looking for a pig farm. He gazed up the driveway to a small home with an office built by the side of it.

“Finally!” He sighed in relief, taking in the name Everett across the office door. He had left his law offices in Saint Paul two days ago to find this place, and finally, in the late afternoon of what felt like the hottest day in August, he had made it. The journey hadn’t been far enough to fly, and there weren’t any airports near here besides. So he had driven, and after three days of searching and backtracking, here he was. All told, he probably should have rented a better vehicle for the journey, as his poor car had been through hell and high water to get to this inaccessible corner of Phillips County.

He stretched; glad to be standing again after so many hours of driving that day. He took off his tie, and tossed it into the car on top of his jacket. It was too hot for business suits, he decided, unbuttoning his collar. He reached into the car for his briefcase, checked his pockets, then turned and headed up to the house.

No one answered when he knocked on the office door, so he crossed to the house’s screen door and knocked there. A woman’s voice called for him to come in, and he opened the screen and stepped inside, wiping his feet on the doormat. The house was filled with the smell of roasting pork, completely overpowering the awful odor of the farm, and Akira’s mouth began to water. A young woman came out from what appeared to be the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.

“Can I help you?” she asked warily, giving him a quick once-over. Akira supposed there probably weren’t too many Japanese businessmen in rural Montana, since there weren’t all that many in Minnesota either.

“My name is Akira Mizuhara,” he said. “I represent Mizuhara Law Offices in Saint Paul, Minnesota. I’m looking for Marcus Everett.”

The woman seemed to relax a little as he introduced himself in unaccented English, but she was still a little guarded as she spoke.

“What does some big city lawyer want with a nobody pig farmer?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“It’s a matter of personal business.” Akira replied calmly. “Nothing bad, I assure you.” He smiled at her, and she finally thawed enough to give him a small grin. She waved her arm at the window.

“He’s probably up at the barn, giving the pigs their supper,” she said. “Lord knows he feeds those damn things too much. Anyway, you can head on up there and look for him. Watch out for rattlesnakes, but if it doesn’t rattle, don’t pay it any mind.”

Akira thanked the woman, and went back out into the sun. He looked in the direction the woman had gestured, and started trekking up the incline towards it. The farm was on rough land, unsuitable for large-scale crops or grazing animals, but pigs would probably be just fine. As he approached the barn, Akira realized it was much smaller than it appeared from down the slope; the silo only stood about twice as high as Akira. Looking through the door of the barn, Akira saw what looked suspiciously like a butcher’s block. The room was much smaller than the barn’s length suggested, but he saw no doors leading out of the room.

Looking around outside again, Akira noticed a well-trodden path leading around the miniature silo. He followed it, and found a large sty next to a small pig shed. There were a couple handfuls of pigs lying in the last afternoon sunbeams, and a sow in a separate pen was feeding a litter of large piglets. The pig shed opened onto the sty, and he saw a few more pigs inside, lying on piles of straw. He heard a muffled curse from beyond the pigs, and he peered through a door in the side of the shed to see what was going on.

“Everything alright?” he called into the shed as his eyes adjusted to the lower light level. The pigs appeared to have the run of half the shed. The other half was stacked with bales of straw and assorted tools that Akira couldn’t identify, but was sure were necessary for raising pigs.

“Not really!” an exasperated male voice called from beyond the straw bales. Akira realized that the pig shed and the far end of the barn were connected by a small doorway, and that the voice was coming from the barn. He moved forward to find the man, and saw that there was a pig run between the two buildings as well. At the end was a small pen with a boar and gilt looking at each other in a decidedly disinterested manner. A man in a thin plaid shirt stood with his back to Akira, hands on his hips.

“Now, you all just think about what you’re gonna go through if we have to do this the hard way.” He scolded. “No one gets to have fun that way.” The farmer turned, ruffling his light brown hair, and smiled sheepishly at Akira.

The farmer was younger than Akira had thought he’d be, with strong arms and a handsome face. His eyes were a rich shade of brown that twinkled even in the dim light. The first three buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a chest that could only be described as chiselled. Everything about this man appealed to Akira in an instant, and his mind went totally blank. Why was he here again?

“It’s my own fault, probably.” The farmer continued. “She started estrus this morning, but I think my new boar is gay.” The blunt comment jarred Akira, who had been standing there with his mouth open, and he closed his mouth quickly.

“Well, um, that is unfortunate.” Akira said. “Are you sure it’s not the female? She doesn’t look too happy either.”

The farmer scratched the five-o-clock shadow on his chin, and looked thoughtfully at the gilt. “I suppose it could be her, at that.” Akira’s eyes wandered across the farmer’s figure, admiring the way his damp shirt clung to his muscles, and how well his jeans showed off his legs. The farmer shifted slightly, giving Akira an opportunity to admire his shapely rear as well.

“Hey buddy, I like bacon as much as the next guy, but I prefer to wait until it’s cooked.” The farmer said in a teasing tone of voice. To Akira’s mortification, he realized he had actually started drooling. Hurriedly wiping his mouth, he felt like his face was going to catch fire. Thankfully, the farmer pretended not to notice, so Akira was able to maintain some semblance of dignity.

“Alright, you hussy. Go away, I’ll deal with you later.” The farmer opened the pen gate, and the gilt took off down the run to rejoin the rest of the herd. She reached the gate at the other end of the run, and looked up at Akira expectantly. After a moment’s hesitation, Akira opened the gate, and the pig ran out into the sty. Akira closed the gate, and turned to find the farmer brushing the boar.

“So, how can I help you?” the farmer asked Akira without looking up. Akira took a deep breath and tried to compose himself.

“My name is Akira Mizuhara, from Mizuhara Law Offices in Saint Paul,” he said, avoiding looking directly at the farmer. “Are you Marcus Everett?”

“Yessir, that’s me,” the farmer replied. “Call me Marcus. What brings you all the way out here, Mr. Mizuhara?”

“Please,” Akira said, a little too quickly. “Call me Akira. Did you know a man by the name of Ernest Evans?” As Akira spoke, Marcus stood up, putting the brush away, and stepped out of the pen. He turned off the light in the breeding room and came out into the pig shed with Akira.

“I sure did. Not very well, but I met him once or twice at family reunions. He was my great uncle.” Marcus looked at Akira. “I assume from your presence that ‘was’ is the appropriate word.”

“Yes,” Akira said. “He passed away last month.”

“That’s a shame,” Marcus said. “He always seemed like a good old bugger. He’s the one that made me want to give this a try.” As Marcus spoke, he hefted a bale of straw from the stack against the wall. “My pa wanted me to keep on with the farm when he died, but I didn’t want anything to do with it. Uncle Ernest changed my mind at a reunion when I was 16. He gave me this really impassioned speech about making your way in the world, living through your own efforts. He described it like this terribly romantic life ideal. It intrigued me, so I figured I’d try my hand at it. I thought I’d pack it in after a couple years, but I actually really love it. No one around for miles; surrounded by nature. God, you should see the stars at night. No city-dweller could even imagine it.” Marcus cut the bale wires and spread the straw out in the main pen, where several young pigs promptly flopped down. He looked up at Akira and smiled.

“When I was younger, I wanted to be a teacher. You know? I wanted to learn, and I wanted to share it with the world. But this seems so much better to me now.”

“I envy you.” Akira said. “I never wanted to be a lawyer. I hate it. I only did it because it was what my family expected of me since I was born. I took over my dad’s firm last year when he retired, but I really didn’t want to.”

“That’s rough.” Marcus gave him a sympathetic look as he walked down to the door and picked up some buckets from the floor. “What would you rather do?”

“I’d rather do something creative, like drawing, I think.” Akira said, following. “But I only do that a little, and only in my spare time.” He paused, looking down at a barrow that was digging in the dirt with his snout. “I do wish I had let myself dream a little more when I was growing up.”

Marcus slopped the contents of the pail into a feed trough by the edge of the sty. The pigs went crazy, running from all corners of the yard for the troughs. The nursing sow looked up at the mad rush and flopped back down to wait.

“It’s never too late to dream,” he said, winking at Akira. “What’s stopping you from drawing now?”

“Obligation.” Akira answered dryly. “My father would die of shame.”

“Has Montana tickled your fancy at all?” Marcus asked, emptying more pails of food into the pen. “There’s plenty of beautiful things to draw out here right now.”

“I’ve seen one or two things I’d like to draw.” Akira admitted, then blushed, realizing the implications of his admission. Marcus looked at him with a conflicted expression for a second, and then smiled warmly.

“Montana sure is beautiful,” Marcus agreed. “But listen to me rambling, this isn’t what you wanted to talk about. What did old Uncle Ernest do, leave me an ugly lamp to remind me of some old piece of advice he gave me when I was three?”

Akira jumped at the opportunity to remove himself from the dangerous road their conversation was heading down. “No, actually,” he said. “We would have sent a letter if it was something so trivial.”

“Oh great, he left me some hulking piece of junk I don’t have room for, didn’t he?”

“Actually, he left you over two million dollars.”

Marcus sat down suddenly in the dirt.

“He-he what?”

Akira balanced his briefcase on a post and opened it, pulling out a photocopied piece of paper.

“’In accordance with all beneficiary designations made preceding this document, I bequeath to my great-nephew Marcus Albert Everett twenty-five percent of my liquidated estate.’ All said and done, that came out to a total of two million, ten thousand, six hundred and forty-nine dollars and eighty-one cents. He also left this note to you.” Akira held out a piece of paper folder in half and sealed with a postage stamp.

Marcus took it with a shaking hand, broke the seal, and opened it. His eyes scanned the page slowly. When he had finished, he closed his eyes and drew his knees up to his chest. His shoulders were shaking, and Akira knelt down next to him, placing a comforting hand on his back. He was about to offer words of comfort when he realized that Marcus was laughing. He lifted his head and read the note out loud for Akira to hear.

“Marcus, when you were a baby, I bet your father he couldn’t make a farmer out of you, but I plum forgot about it by the time I gave you that speech the last time I saw you. I’m sure your father and I are having a good laugh right now about me making myself lose my own bet, but never let it be said that I’m not a man of my word. Here’s twenty-five percent of my estate, as agreed. I only hope there’s enough left after debts and costs to actually be worth anything. Uncle Ernie.”

Akira smiled, and patted Marcus on the back.

“I’d say there was enough left wouldn’t you?”

“I’d say so, yes.” Marcus smiled up at Akira. “God, I could just kiss you right now!”

Akira’s heart jumped in his chest, and he felt giddy. Elated emotion was rapidly overriding the logic that screamed at him that Marcus didn’t mean it literally, and he felt like he was floating off the ground.

“Why don’t you?” The words were out of Akira’s mouth before he knew what he was saying. As he burned with embarrassment, he saw the same conflicted expression in Marcus’s eyes, and wished a rattlesnake would bite him on the ass just to distract him from the words he’d spoken.

Then suddenly, Marcus’s lips were on his, and Akira didn’t know which way was up anymore. Akira had never smelled anything sweeter than the air that surrounded him in that moment. The world spun as he kissed Marcus, his hands running up his back, grabbing at his shoulders. Marcus pulled Akira towards him, pressing their bodies together as if afraid he would evaporate. For long, glorious moments, they explored each other’s mouths and pulled against each other, desperate to fulfil the other’s cravings. They broke apart when one of the barrows gave an exceptionally loud squeal. They looked at each other, Marcus with rumpled hair, Akira flushed red, and then Marcus looked at the pig.

“Oh, shut up,” he said, getting up and slopping the last bucket over the barrow’s head. The pig lapped at it, and found itself surrounded by the rest of the herd, all pushing against him, trying to get at the food.

“That’s what you get, you greedy pig.” Marcus turned back to Akira. “I don’t suppose you’d like to stay for dinner?” he asked, suddenly much more reserved.

It was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head. Akira fought to keep his face neutral as he remembered the young woman back at the house.

“If your wife doesn’t mind, I will be glad to join you for dinner,” he said carefully.

Marcus looked confused for a moment, then his face brightened.

“Oh! My sister?” he said. “She won’t mind at all!”

“Your sister?” Akira asked, feeling his apprehension ease.

“Yeah!” Marcus exclaimed. “She manages the farm office. Not that there’s much to manage. Most of the pork stays here to feed us. I tell you what though, she makes a great tenderloin!” His eyes were sparkling again, and he offered Akira a hand off the ground. “So,” he continued, sounding hopeful. “Will you stay?”

Akira smiled at him as he took the hand. “I’d love to.”

As they walked down the hill together, Akira looked up towards the hills on the other side of the valley. The sun was setting, burning red and pink through the atmosphere, and Akira gaped at it.

“It’s so beautiful!” he exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Marcus said quietly, looking at Akira. “It is.”

Akira looked at Marcus, and flushed scarlet. He looked away, smiling. His heart skipped a beat as Marcus’s hand found his. He held it tightly, feeling the calluses beneath his fingers as they walked along.

Could I do what he does? He asked himself. Could I live in the middle of nowhere and raise pigs like Marcus? He looked up at the man walking with him. The last rays of sunlight played through his hair, making him glow with a warmth to rival the heat of the day. His sparkling eyes danced as he spoke animatedly about the small garden his sister grew vegetables in. There was a brutal honestly about Marcus that he never saw in Saint Paul.

“Yeah,” he said under his breath, fingering the pencil he always carried in his pocket. “Yeah, I could do that.”


End file.
